


Just A Job

by SQ (proteinscollide)



Category: Southland
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:19:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proteinscollide/pseuds/SQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Cooper knows better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sli/gifts).



> Thanks to littlerhymes for beta-reading, and cheerleading, and generally being awesome! :)

"Is he cute?"

"Who?"

"Your rookie. He cute?" Cesar asks with a grin, like he already knows the answer.

"He's some rich lawyer's kid slumming it," Cooper growls, a tone that says very clearly, _drop it_. "So – "

"Oh, so he's _really_ cute and you're mad at yourself," Cesar teases, ignoring all the signals Cooper is sending at him.

But he doesn't miss a trick when a sweet looking boy smiles at them from across the bar. Cesar lifts his bottle from the counter and says easily, already turning away, "I guess it's see you later unless I strike out."

Cooper drinks from his own bottle and closes his eyes, cursing his friend for putting thoughts into his head. He doesn't want to think about how cute his boot is. He's not allowed to. He spends hours each day in a cramped black-and-white next to the guy; the last thing he needs is to lose his focus or get hard or worse, get attached to someone who's going to be switched out for another kid who needs training in a couple of months.

He takes a deep breath and sits up straight, eyes flying open as something in his lower back flares sharp and hot at the movement. Cooper grimaces as he holds still, hoping the pain will pass. In the mirror above the bar, he catches James' eyes and the lanky man nods towards the restroom, slipping through its swinging door. Cooper grunts, and drains the rest of his beer. The pain is still there, a muted ache Cooper knows will only get worse through the next days. What the hell, his supplies are running low. He shifts off the stool, leaning on the counter heavily as he lumbers to his feet.

In the tiny restroom, James puts his hand each in the back pockets of his ripped jeans, and says, "Left or right?"

"I don't have time for games," Cooper says. "What do you have for me?"

"It's your lucky day," James answers with a grin. "In one hand I have a nice full vial of percs, the other Vicodin. So which do you want?"

Cooper knows he has three Vicodin rattling in their little case in the glovebox, and maybe five or so left at home. It'll barely get him through the next day, let alone for however long this pain will last.

"How much for both?" he says, then curses inwardly when he sees the gleam in James' eyes.

The price James names is more than double what he would normally pay. Cooper reaches for his wallet anyway, and opens it. He doesn't have enough.

He's rethinking the deal when James says, in a low voice, "I'd take it in trade, you're not bad for an old man." He smirks at Cooper.

Cooper looks at him and says evenly, "You think this back and these knees could handle a blowjob?"

He grins and James thinks that's it, it's all a funny joke, but the smile on his face fades when Cooper throws the money on the floor, the paper soaking up the damp straight away.

"Fuck, man, why'd you have to do that for?" James says, scrambling to his knees for the bills.

Cooper grabs him by the back of the head then, drawing him close and pushing his head back so he's looking up at Cooper, his mouth level with Cooper's crotch.

"I'm not that kind of person," Cooper snarls.

"Yeah, you're a fucking cop," James sneers in return. "But in here you're just serving and protecting your own fucking ass."

Cooper, his hand still gripping James' hair tight, slides a hand into the left pocket of his jeans. He reads the label – Vicodin – and slips it into his own pockets. He lets go and James falls against the tiled wall hard. He groans, one hand going to the side of his head, the other still clutching the money. Cooper steps over him to get out of the restroom.

Cesar's back at the bar again. There's a second bottle by him, and Cooper slides onto the stool in front of it.

"That guy's bad news," Cesar says, not looking his way. "You know better."

Cooper always knows better. But he shakes two pills into his hand and swallows them with a long draught from the bottle anyway. And later that night, in bed, he spends a long hour tossing and turning until he gives in and jerks off thinking about Sherman.

Knowing better and doing it are two different things. Cooper knows that too; it's what's brought him a divorce and an empty bed and a painkiller addiction, and now a stupid thing for his partner.

***

Chickie and her new partner, a guy a year and a half out of the academy called Steve Abelard, are already at the cantina when Cooper and Sherman pull up for code seven. She spots them from across the car lot and waves, smiling. She looks five years younger; has since Dewey was retired for good. The higher ups didn't like front page headlines about cops gone wild in the LA river.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Cooper says as he settles down on the bench across from her. He nods at Abelard in passing, before turning his head back toward the counter where Sherman's ordering for the both of them.

"It's been a quiet night," Chickie says with some relief. "But who knows what crap will come up later? Better eat now before all hell breaks loose."

Abelard, shovelling food into his mouth in a way that belies his skinny beanpole frame, doesn't even look up as he grunts in agreement.

"I was kinda hoping you guys would stop by around this time too," Chickie adds.

"Aw, you miss us," Sherman says sweetly, coming up suddenly behind Cooper. His elbow brushes Cooper's shoulder as he swings his legs across the seat beside Cooper, a soda cup in each hand. Cooper jerks away at the touch, then thanks a god he doesn't believe in for all the painkillers in the world; he can't feel a thing below his waist right now.

"Yeah, I haven't seen your gorgeous face in a while," Chickie says. "Not that I don't try. I asked the lieutenant why couldn't I work with the pretty boy partner once in a while? No offense, Abelard. But this one always gets in first with his request anyway."

She throws Cooper a fond look, and he smiles back thickly.

"Hey I trained him up good, I should be able to keep him a while," Cooper says, as easily as he can with a pounding heart. "And it won't be long before they give me a new boot and I have to start all over again."

He grins at Chickie and when she laughs, he knows she remembers the two months she spent with him when she first graduated, how tough he was on her. He glances out of the corner of his eye, wanting to see if Sherman's laughing too about how he's a real hardass of a training officer, but Sherman's face is stony, the hint of a frown creasing his forehead.

But Chickie's oblivious to the tension in the air. She leans forward across the table and says in a mock whisper, "Cooper _never_ gets attached to his boots, and they shoot through as soon as their probation's done."

"Except for you – couldn't shake you," Cooper interjects, and Chickie smiles, lines crinkling around her lively eyes.

"I had to keep an eye on you," she says. "I have to make sure you haven't found yourself a new favourite."

"Well don't worry, like he says I'll be out of his hair soon enough," Sherman says abruptly.

"No, we're a select group, you and me," she says, her tone suddenly serious. "He doesn't want to see you go, but he'll never tell you that. But we're the lucky ones - he'll always have our backs." Chickie smiles kindly at them both and goes back to picking at her food.

Cooper stares down at his plate. She's at once right, and completely wrong. Sherman's as good a boot as she was in her time, and he'd be sad to lose a good officer like that to another unit. But more than that, he wants to grab Sherman and peel those blues away from his body and sink deep into him and forget everything else. It's nothing he's ever felt before, and it terrifies him; the force of the feeling itself, and the fact it has nothing and everything to do with this job, the only thing he's ever been able to commit to all his adult life.

There's an uncomfortable silence over the table now, and just as Cooper is gearing himself up for something gruff and meaningless to say, two things happen. First, Abelard lifts his head and lets out an incredible belch, and suddenly they're all laughing, gasping for breath between belly chuckles, even Abelard himself.

Then the radio on Sherman's shoulder crackles to life, the operator's voice saying in her crisp tones, "15A85, public disturbance, Burbank and Magnolia, see the man."

"Back to work," Sherman says, springing to his feet and dumping his trash in the bin in one quick movement. He radios his response as soon as he gets in the car, as Cooper heaves himself into the driver's seat, and with the routine, everything seems to go back to normal. For now.

***

They're cruising around his neighbourhood on patrol, and Cooper can't help himself from slowing down in front of his place. Just his luck, Mrs Gonzalez is out the front next door, watering her petunias. She peers at the black and white then waves enthusiastically when she recognises him. He brings the car to a stop by the kerb.

They exchange pleasantries through the window, Mrs Gonzalez peering even more myopically at Sherman in the passenger seat before pronouncing him a nice looking boy. Sherman blushes, and Cooper can't keep himself from smiling at his partner.

"My flowers!" Mrs Gonzalez exclaims as she notices the plants now drowning in the forgotten spray of the hose. She scampers back to her yard with a hurried goodbye.

Cooper glances once again at his place, quiet and still next door, and when he looks back at Sherman, he's got a bemused look on his face.

"That's your place?" he asks. "Huh."

"What?" Cooper says testily, pulling away from the kerb. "You got something bad to say about my house?"

"No, no," Sherman says hastily. "It's just – wait, was that the wall outside, you know, the one you were building with your, um, friend."

"That's around the back," Cooper says. "But you're not changing the topic that easily. What about my house?"

"It's great," Sherman says sincerely. "It's just not what I would've associated you with. A fence, a yard, a house – it's so domestic. You add a partner and a dog and you're an old settled man." He glances sideways at Cooper as he says this, leaning forward in his seat a little.

Cooper snorts. "Yeah, I don't have either of those, but I'll admit to being domestic and houseproud. Some of us have had to work fucking hard for a place to call home." He stops to make a tricky left turn back onto a main road, then says a little cruelly, "Anyway, I bet your place is some yuppie haven, all clean lines and white surfaces and designer crap."

There's a pause, then Sherman says, almost shyly, "It – you could come over and see if you're right."

Cooper debates with himself for a second, whether to leave his partner hanging or not. But who would he be kidding? He's not going to turn this invitation down.

"You got any beer in that fancy house of yours?"

"Sure," Sherman says, and Cooper can see him mentally reminding himself to swing by a liquor store and pick some up before he goes home tonight. Cooper shakes his head, and tries to tell himself that he knows better than to go after this kid.

But after work two nights later, he follows Sherman home, tailing his partner's bike.

There's beer in the fridge as promised. Cooper ignores the twinge in his back and bends at the waist to pass one to Sherman on the other side of the fridge door, holding one in the crook of his elbow for himself. He sits down heavily on a stool by the granite benchtop, and looks across the cavernous kitchen at Sherman. Sherman's changed into a plain white v-neck t-shirt and worn jeans, bare feet on the impossibly white tiles. He's standing slumped against the other bench top, one arm reaching out behind him to prop himself up. He looks tired and soft around the edges, and Cooper feels his mouth go dry.

He takes a long drink from his beer.

"So you were right about my place," Sherman says, breaking the quiet. He smiles, eyes nervous, and shrugs. "It's not very – I'm not home much to make anything of it. But I wanted a place of my own, when I started at the academy."

"It's not half the place your mom's is," Cooper says mildly, "Guess that was a good part of the attraction."

Sherman nods tightly. Then he says, "Rich kid, spoiled brat, owner of an empty house. Is that all you see me as?"

Cooper stares at him, and his mind stutters through all the things he's imagined about his partner in his head, all those things he can't say.

"No," he says finally, "I see a cop." He pauses, and adds, "And a friend."

Sherman ducks his head a little and says, "That's high praise from you." But he sounds a little bitter, and Cooper frowns.

"It's the best thing I could say about anybody," he tells Sherman. "When it's not just a job, but who you are."

"What if being a cop stops you from getting something you want?" Sherman asks quietly, almost to himself. "Even if the job is what brought you together in the first place?"

Cooper grips the neck of his bottle as one thought after another chases through his mind. _Did he – Is he saying – I want – _

"Ben - " he says finally, his voice a little hoarse. Sherman won't look at him, turns his body away.

Cooper moves in close behind Sherman. He doesn't touch him, just stands there waiting. Sherman doesn't use any of those whip quick reflexes that they both know he has; just stands, head a little bowed, breathing quickly and shallowly.

Cooper finally places his palm against the back of his neck, and says softly, "Do you want me to move away?"

Sherman shakes his head, a quick side to side. Cooper slides his hand lower, feels the tense planes of muscle and the light bumps of his spine, and leaves it resting in the small of Sherman's back, guiding him until he's in the circle of Cooper's arm. Sherman sighs, and leans forward, rests his forehead against Cooper's shoulder.

Cooper moves his mouth closer to Sherman's ear and says, "I shouldn't be doing this. You're untouchable while you're on probation, under my supervision."

Sherman closes his eyes and turns his face towards Cooper blindly, his cheek sliding against the thin material of Cooper's shirt. He can feel Sherman concentrating on every word he's saying; Sherman's not good at following orders, but he's listening to Cooper now.

And that's the problem. If this was all about the job, Cooper wouldn't be standing here holding Sherman. His boot's supposed to do everything he's told by his T/O, and right now Cooper's skating dangerously close to abusing his authority.

But he doesn't let go. He can feel Sherman's chest rising and falling against him, and almost without realising, Cooper takes a deep breath in sync.

"It's hard in this job, sometimes, to know what's right and what's not. And even when we know, we don't always do what we should. You, you're a good example. I'd take you in a moment if I could."

Sherman jerks his head up and looks at Cooper, desire dark in his eyes. Cooper stares at his mouth, and wonders if he can ever remember the rest of what he's going to say, if he can even say it, when it amounts to saying 'no' to this.

"Then don't say no," Sherman says roughly, when Cooper lets the last part slip out of his mouth. "I won't tell anyone. I'm doing this of my own free will. I want you."

It's Cooper's turn to shake his head. "It's not that simple. And fuck, I don't need one more thing in my life that I know better about."

Sherman pushes him away then, stands tall and suddenly very cold. "Right, fine. No means no, I get it. I'm sorry I put you in this position. I'm sorry for fucking this up." He tries to smile, a ghastly thin-lipped attempt. "I guess you'll be going then."

Cooper knows better, but he's human. He reaches out for Sherman, who says wretchedly, "Please, go - "

Cooper reaches for him anyway, and catches hold of his elbow. He swings them both against the wall and kisses Sherman, hard, like he's been dreaming of since they slid into the black and white at the same time and Sherman had looked across at him with a mix of nerves and bravado and a wary caged trust. Sherman kisses back, his hand curling around the top of Cooper's arm, fingers tightening and loosening as he draws him deeper into the kiss. He pushes himself against Cooper, and he can feel Sherman is hard, as hard as he is, and "Christ, I – _six months_," Cooper chokes out, "Six months is what you've got left of your probationary period."

He pulls himself back and takes a few deep breaths. "That's my promise to you," Cooper says. He can't help himself – he darts forward for another brief kiss, lips sliding over Sherman's, a hint of tongue. "In six months I'll make good on that promise."

He walks away, walks out the door, before he can do something even more stupid. He can feel the kid's eyes on him as he goes, so he thinks about the job and those lines he knows better than to cross, and tries not to think about teeth and tongues and bright blue eyes.


End file.
